


Heartfelt Thanks Later

by Catchclaw



Series: Mental Mimosa [15]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe RPF
Genre: Best Friends, Brothels, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-08
Updated: 2018-05-08
Packaged: 2019-05-03 23:15:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14579757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catchclaw/pseuds/Catchclaw
Summary: “You know I love you,” Chris says, “and I do, but seriously, this is pushing the duties of the best man thing way beyond what I’m used to.”





	Heartfelt Thanks Later

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Talking and communication issues. With bonus prompt: in a strip club.

“It’s an equal opportunity cathouse,” he said. “Women, men, non-binary--whatever floats your proverbial boat, Evans.”

“Yeah, but--”

“And the ethics of the place? Have I mentioned the ethics? Fair pay, health insurance, company-paid dental plan. The owner, she takes the welfare of her people seriously.” RDJ looks up from his phone, waggles his eyebrows. “I mean, she should. They’re fucking gorgeous.”

“So only pretty people deserve to be taken care of?”

“I didn’t say that. I did not. Don’t put words in my mouth.” A beat. “I’m trying to leave it open to other opportunities. Namely, this semi-demi-god kid named Sebastian.”

Chris groans, tries to bury his head under the seat. “Not again, man. Come on. Spare me. You’re gonna see him in like ten minutes--”

“Five.” His best friend is practically bouncing. “Look, we just made the turn off.”

Chris gets a glimpse of a discreet sign-- _Vermillion Ranch, 2.1 miles on left_. He’d expected something in neon, something gaudy and like ten feet tall. This one looks like a sign for a chichi spa, or some old country house. Huh.

“You know I love you,” Chris says, “and I do, but seriously, this is pushing the duties of the best man thing way beyond what I’m used to.”

“This may come as a shock,” RDJ says, “I mean, bear with me, but you’re doing me a favor, being my best man. It’s not an obligation, you know. You didn’t have to say yes. And”--he holds up a hand--“setting aside your total and complete inability to ever say no to anyone, yes, hi, I’m the one who made you write that down and show it to your therapist, I appreciate you doing this, Chris. Standing by me like this. So I see it as part of job as best friend/painfully handsome groom to do something nice for you, giving you a chance--nay! Making it mandatory--that you let somebody take care of you for once in your beautiful do-gooding life.”

“By taking me to a brothel.”

The car slides from gravel to pavement and slows, comes to a definitive stop, and RDJ reaches over, claps Chris’ arm and beams like a motherfucking lighthouse. “No, my young friend. No. By taking you to the best brothel in the whole goddamn world.”

****

It’s very tasteful inside. Not a word Chris would have associated with what goes on here. It reminds him of RDJ’s apartment, a little, after his fiancee got a hold of it: like Pottery Barn and West Elm crossed the streams and blew  throw pillows and low-slung couches everywhere. Everything’s clean and shining and as they’re led through the house, towards the back--but there’s not a another person in sight.

“Where is everybody?” he asks RDJ. “Or is it always this way?”

RDJ waves a hand at him, breezy. “I paid for the whole place for the day. Or, I should say, the next 24 hours.”

Chris comes to a screeching halt, almost slams into an art deco seascape. “You _what_?”

RDJ doubles back and grabs his elbow. “Look, I know you value your privacy. And mine’s nothing to sneeze at, I guess. But it was mostly for you.”

“What?”

“Chris, my dear boy, you won’t even go to Starbucks without a full fucking recon mission first. Did you really think you’d feel comfortable strolling up to some place you’d never been full of people you didn’t know and fucking one and/or more of them senseless?”

“I, um--”

“The answer you’re looking for,” RDJ says, “is no.”

“Gentlemen?” The lovely creature who’d been escorting them has stopped a few feet ahead, eyebrow raised in friendly concern. “Is something wrong?”

“No, no, we’re all good.” He looks up into Chris’ face. “We are good, aren’t we? If we’re not, tell me now and we’ll get right back in that limo and scoot on back to Vegas. I know you've got a pocket full of cash you're dying to lose to me at blackjack. Which is a sucker's game, by the way."

“I’m good,” Chris says. “More or less. Semi-terrified. Kind of overwhelmed by your thoughtfulness, though. Rob, seriously, that was--”

“Heartfelt thanks later,” RDJ says. “Meeting beautiful people and inserting your verb of choice into that phrase, that happens now.”

Their escort leads them the rest of the way, through another room, a long hallway, and into a much smaller, less grandiose room. It’s nice and everything, still looks like somebody got paid big money to pick out every knick knack and angle every chair, but it feels like a space people actually use.


End file.
